


Gag Me With A Grapefruit Spoon

by Quaxo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort Food, Gen, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quaxo/pseuds/Quaxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein, Natasha and Tony discover they have a common ground in their food snobbery and Clint just doesn't understand the fuss everyone's making over his sandwich toppings.</p>
<p>Or -- some things just DON'T belong together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gag Me With A Grapefruit Spoon

"What the hell are you eating," Natasha is hardly squeamish -- in fact, taking in the array of jars setting out on the table, this is the first time she's ever felt like vomiting without some form of poisoning or illness being involved. 

"Sammich," Clint says around a bite of his sandwich, opening his mouth to reveal a wad of chewed up food on top of his tongue.

"Sandwich," She toys with the word on her tongue -- she wonders if perhaps the Red Room had forgotten to teach him some eccentric definition of the word -- something that meant an absolutely disgusting combination.

"These," she gestures to the various jars scattered across the table. "You cannot possibly make one sandwich with all this..." 

The Wonder Bread was -- well she wasn't sure it was bread, but she could agree that it was a typical choice for an American sandwich, as Banner and Rogers had shown a preference for it as well. Stark barely tolerated its presence in the kitchen, complaining that it was more candy than bread; it was one of the few things she agreed with Stark about. He forced the others to keep the marshmallow-soft bread loaf on a separate counter from his own thick-crusted artisan breads delivered fresh from a bakery in Queens.

Mayonnaise was utterly normal for a sandwich -- although the premade junk they kept in the fridge made her vaguely queasy to think about. Mayonnaise shouldn't keep for months in a warm pantry. Making fresh mayonnaise wasn't even that hard --

The pickles -- well, Bread and Butter pickles might as well be called candied cucumbers -- still, they were rather appealing in their own way with the sweetness contrasting well with the spice. 

Bacon wasn't unusual -- she's pretty sure that Clint would have bacon with every meal if he could. She understands the appeal of bacon. Sometimes she even sneaks it onto her own sandwich. She misses fat back though...

Peanut butter though -- if she lived in the States for a thousand years she would never understand their national obsession with the sickeningly sweet nut paste. She'd had to choke down peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for weeks while she was in SHIELD's holding cells as they determined whether or not she were a sleeper agent. She had nightmares that the dirty musty sticky stuff would be her last meal. 

All of them together -- at once? Sometimes she really worried about Clint, surely no one could truly enjoy such a combination. 

"What. Is. That," Stark had frozen in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes focussed on the sandwich in Clint's hand.

"Sammich!" Clint stuck out his tongue, balancing a ball of chewed bread, bacon, peanut butter, and pickles on the tip.

"Its peanut butter, bacon, pickles, and mayonnaise on Wonder Bread," Natasha gets out through gritted teeth -- watching Clint eat that -- that abomination makes bile crawl up the back of her throat. She hasn't thrown up since she was a child and she's not going to let a sandwich break that streak now. 

"Ugh," Stark pulls a face. "Gag me with a grapefruit spoon why don't you?" He makes wide circuit around Clint to get to the refrigerator to pull out one of his homemade algae-green juice. "That shit will kill you."

"You're one to talk," Clint says around his chunk of sandwich before swallowing. "You're not supposed to get the high score on a breathalyzer."

Stark makes a face, taking a swig of his juice. "All things done in compensation," He holds his glass of juice up. "Three days of the week my body is a temple -- and the rest of the week its also a temple, just one dedicated to alcohol and debauchery. At least booze won't clog my arteries."

"I'm pretty sure its, 'All things done in moderation', Stark," Clint swallows the last of his sandwich, licking his fingers clean. 

"You eat sandwiches with peanut butter and mayo -- any other combination I could get behind -- but peanut butter and mayo? You think I'm going to take advice from a guy who eats peanut butter and mayo together?"

"Whatever guys, don't knock it 'til you try it."

"Pass," She and Stark say in unison -- it must be another thing they agree on. 

Stark wanders off with his juice drink after a dramatic shudder. Natasha stays -- she and Clint had planned on going over some surveillance footage after he'd finished his sandwich. 

Clint is a neat person, someone at least taught him that much -- he washes his plate and even wipes down the counter as he cleans up. 

He puts away the jars, and then she hears the snick of a bottle of soda opening -- it isn't long before that awful medicine smell hits her nose and she sees the familiar brown bottle in Clint's hand. 

"Root beer? Seriously? Ugh... _Clint_..."

**Author's Note:**

> One of my memories from living in an international student dorm in college is the seeming universal hatred of peanut butter and root beer. Africa, South America, South East Asia -- didn't matter where they came from, most of them hated it. This meant that I got all the Reese's cups and root beer barrels come Halloween -- not like I was complaining. Root beer in particular was inspired by my Russian teacher in high school, who couldn't stand the smell stuff.


End file.
